The Water and the Blood by Nancy E. Turner

Author:Nancy E. Turner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

@ n July the papers said we had taken Saipan and Bougainville and now Guam. I added them to the list by the radio, under Tarawa and I Kwajalein and Eniwetok—names you could break a tooth on. We were turning out machine-gun parts for the newest Mustang P-51s faster than we’d ever worked before.

The first Saturday in August, I took a lunch and bicycled out past the factories and rows of camouflaged buildings with their silly canvas houses and cardboard trees, to where the small path led up a hill toward the bluffs. At the top, where I could see the vast Pacific Ocean lapping at the beach, I didn’t unpack but just sat on the weeds and watched for a while. A breeze carried the salty, bronze air, warm with seaweed mingled with remnants of fish left on the beach by tumultuous water or lazy fishermen. It also brought the fragrance of flowers down the side of the hills.

205

It’s hard to say how I knew that day I’d be going home. I hadn’t heard from Gordon, not even one small postcard since he left. I got asked to date all the time, but I never accepted. I made up lists of excuses not to do whatever the other kids were doing.

I’d built a new kite. It was about twice as big as the first one—a little harder to get the strings balanced just right, but by midmorning I’d launched it, and it was holding steady over the hills. I took my shoes off and left them with my bicycle on the path above the sand. I saw something in the clouds, the way they were heavy and wet-looking this morning, that brought me back to being a kid again. Something about the energy of the storm, lying just behind the dark gray curtain of cloud, was too familiar. It took me to an August afternoon two years ago.

I could hear my own voice on the wind. “Mrs. Jasper, I came here to help you clean house. I can sweep and mop and wash the windows.

Mrs. Jasper?” I repeated my first statement, louder, as if her ignoring me was a sign of losing her hearing. “Sunday school is having a be-good-to-them-that’s-unfortunate workday. I’m getting started early.”

“Your mama know you’s here?”

“No, ma’am. Mother and Daddy drove to Shreveport to get Deely some arch supports.”

“What makes you figure I’s unfortunate?”

“I don’t know. I figure you seem like you’re tired. And you got no kids here to help you out.”

“My chil’ren’s grown. I don’t need no help.”

“I won’t be trouble. I’ll sweep off your porch. See? You got leaves there in the corners. Might be spiders under there.”

Eventually I swept the porch and, under her careful supervision, dusted the furniture. Then I was sent home, baffled and more than a little hurt. I filled out my “Ministry Record” card, showing what I’d done as far as ministering to someone in need. I proudly signed my name at the bottom. The next day was

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